Cette fois
by inuyasha's lullaby - farewell
Summary: This time, we start over, only to end up back where we started, a never-ending cycle. – Kurolina, semi-sequel to Encore.


This time, she roars. Roars with cheerful laughter, full of cherished life, oceanic blue eyes gleaming with genuine happiness – a rare feeling, an emotion seldom felt. She laughs heartily at the dark angel's charming jokes, silly gestures, and crude (but creative) limericks. It was a time of peace between the girl and the dark angel, a calm moment within a large and destructive black hole.

The cycle will start again.

It will go round and round, never-ending, always spinning, spinning round and round, never-ending, always turning, turning round and round, never-ending, always twisting, twisting round and -

The girl giggles like a schoolgirl, her carnelian-painted lips perfectly formed into a perky little smile, a cute little smile. In this moment, she is beauty, the cliché wife who is content and shows no emotion. The girl is a robot. For now, she is a paradigm. She is _here_ , but not _there_.

The girl just exists for this moment.

* * *

This time, he sings. Sings loudly and proudly with a voice that melts like honey. This is the sweet side of the dark angel, the light that burns within him that he seldom shows. The light that burned dimly until the girl added the needed fuel, allowing it to shine brightly, blinding her with its luminescent brilliance.

This is what the dark angel is capable of.

This is what the dark angel fears.

The girl listens attentively, eagerly, listening to the dark angel's mellifluous cantillations. She listened, wondering, pondering _why_ , why hide this side of you, this side that is _meaningful_ and _precious?_ It is a question that will remain in her thoughts, never to be answered. He'll make sure of that, that evasive dark angel. The question will always remain unsolved because the dark angel himself is not sure of why he hides this supposed true nature. He is not sure of why he locks himself away, throwing the key far away from him, only for the key to magically return and set him free, and only for him to start all over again.

The dark angel does not know why.

There used to be a reason.

He can't remember it anymore.

He sings for this rare stop in time, sings to show, to _prove_ , that he is not fully emotionless. The words that escape his lips are sad, heartbreaking, masqueraded by an upbeat cheer to his voice, a pleasant ol' brightness to his intonation. Wonderfully melancholic, beautifully somber. He voices his true feelings, though he will make sure the girl will never understand, will allow her to remain naïve. She will never comprehend her husband, the dark angel, who sings with emotion, but holds no emotion. The dark angel, that is _there_ , but not _here_.

The dark angel just exists for this moment.

* * *

This time, he cries. Cries silently, heart-shatteringly, as he wife sleeps sounds besides him, knowing nothing, choosing to never find out. The droplets of water stings his eyes, betraying him, mocking him, reminding him of his weak grasp on reality.

The pathetic control he has on his feelings.

The girl shifts slightly, still within the realm of slumber. She does not deserve him, the dark angel, whatever he was. She does not deserve the physical embodiment of conflicting emotions that is the dark angel. He is not sure what she deserves, but he is not it. He is not anything, but everything that he wishes _not_ to be.

But yet, he has found himself in her presence. He is within her fragile glory, and vice versa. How, this is a question that he cannot provide the answer to. The dark angel wants to kbow, wants to know why he must feel pain, why she must accept pain, why the world turns without them, why does the world even include them?

Was it his fault, or hers?

Please answer.

Sleep beckons him. He does not wish to sleep.

Sleep ignored him. He complies.

Why must he be _here_ and _there?_

The dark angel does not wish to exist for this moment.

* * *

This time, she screams. Screams as she destroys her fanciful belongings, watching it all break into transparent shards, exactly like her soul. The dark angel leaves her to her devices, his own anger boiling, bubbling, crackling, flaring. She stares at him, screams at him, thoroughly explains that their life is hell because of him, not her, him.

Or was it her? She yells louder, her blue eyes shining with hate and disgust at both herself and the dark angel. Why couldn't she be like _him_ , the silverette friend of hers, able to handle the hell that is life? Why couldn't the dark angel be like _him_ , the bluenette friend of his, able to show expressions and actually fucking mean it?

Why did her world crash upon her so often?

She didn't even feel the pain of the crash anymore.

The slam of a door is heard. The girl drops to her knees, exhausted. She is alone, alone and tired, alone and broken, alone and nothing. She is in the midst of a crisis, a crisis that shows everything, bares everything. Tears slide down her cheeks, her porcelain face.

She is alone.

Is she _there_ , or is she _here?_

The girl does not wish to exist for this moment.

* * *

This time, they love. Love like they've never met before, love like they were meeting for the first time, the girl intrigued by the dark angel's demeanor, the dark angel intrigued by the girl that approached him. They lie in bed together, bare bodies holding each other, radiating pure warmth. Her hand caress the dark teal mess that is the dark angel's feathers; his hand strokes the sunflower-kiss luxury that is the girl's hair. Their love-making was rough, harsh, full of want and need and small kisses and sweet nothings.

They held each other, the sun blessing them, lightly dancing upon their glistening skin. They refuse to make mention of the past, and they do not acknowledge the future. They focus upon now, the present, speaking to each shakily, delicately, as if their words will cause to break into pieces if handled wrongly.

"Rosalina Summers, I love you so much."

It is all a façade. The words are hollow, false.

"I love you, too, Dark Pit Summers."

It is all a lie. The truth is nonexistent, untouchable.

They are neither _here_ nor _there_ , _there_ nor _here_.

Neither the girl nor the dark angel exists.

* * *

 **Hey, 'tis be Mika here with, uh, what the hell is this oh my God this is more confusing than** _ **Encore**_ **.**

 ***Ahem* Welcome to** _ **Cette fois**_ **, the sequel (?)/spiritual successor to** _ **Encore**_ **. It is designed to be way shorter, way more abstract than its predecessor. I decided to go with my OTP, Kurolina, for this one. What did you think of this one? Do some type of analysis on it, hee hee. How would you feel if I say that the relationship between Dark Pit and Rosalina Summers is way** _ **worse**_ **and** _ **broken**_ **than the relationship Ike and Reflet Winters share (and yes, their last names are supposed to alluded to each other)? I've constructed this whole convoluted reasoning that only my mind comprehends, but I would like to see you all's first.**

 **I hoped you enjoyed it! See ya!**


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